


Paul's dirty mouth

by Wisslan



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9371261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wisslan/pseuds/Wisslan
Summary: Stuck in a room filled with reporters, John gets agitated. Thankfully, Paul knows just what to do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated!

John was suffocating.

There were people everywhere, not the nice kind of people either. They were all stuck within the boundaries of some kind of lounge, decorated with heavy colours and stuffy fabrics. The people around him teemed around like ants, hungry like vultures, ready to tear him apart with questions. 

John was dying.

What, oh, what had had he ever done to the world do deserve this punishment. He promised himself quietly as he was asked about his haircut and the newest song on the album, that if he got out of this alive he’d never joke around during recordings, he’d be on time and he’d give Brian a blowjob if he seemed tense. Whatever it took to just get out. 

Paul pulled of a charming smile as a camera was launched in his face. Oh yes, I wrote that song. Oh no, you can ask a few questions. Oh, there’s nothing going on between me and her, we’re just good friends. 

The answers came rolling of his tongue like a soothing lullaby. John and Ringo were long gone, lost in the throng of reporters. News conferences were always terrible and Paul had never liked them but as long as he kept smiling with that sparkle in his eye and answer every question, he’d be fine. George was at his side, posing for the camera. His eyes flickered around the room before spotting John through a small clearing of photographers. The poor singer was doing that thing with his hands, were he’d scratch at them, rub them, anything to distract himself. George reached behind himself, getting a handful of the thick fabric from Paul’s suit jacket. He tugged the charmer closer and leaned into him. 

“Look, John.” George hissed before flashing yet another camera yet another plastic smile. Paul saw the small clearing and spotted John. Oh no… 

“Oh George!” Paul let out. “Will you take over for me, lad? I’m sorry, I need to move on now, thank you!” 

George and Paul swapped places, letting Paul slip out of the tight situation. He felt a little bad for leaving his friend with the nosy ass reporter but they had a crisis on their hands, John. He could snap anytime now, like a ticking bomb. 

“Mr. Lennon?” The reporter was thick with a heavy moustache and slicked hair. He was holding a small notebook in his fat hand, writing down every syllabi that slipped passed John’s lips. 

“I’m sorry?” John asked. 

The reporter opened his little mouth to repeat the question but was quickly interrupted. 

“Oh, we can’t tell you too much about the single, band secrets.” Paul popped out of nowhere, resting a hand on John’s tense shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mister but I’m going to have to borrow John here for a few minutes. Our manager wanted a couple of words. Come on.” 

Paul grabbed John’s arm and pulled him out of the mess, the older following blindly like a puppy. They found a small clearing of the crowd and thudded down on a brightly decorated couch. It was one of those fancier ones with springs inside that you could feel through the satin of the cushions. John had never enjoyed Victorian styled furniture but he almost wanted to kiss the couch for its mere existence. 

“How’s everything?” Paul asked casually, swinging an arm over the back of the couch and leaning back.

“Shit, I hate this. I feel like I can’t breathe.” John leaned back, pulling a box of cigarettes out of his pocket. He took out one and lit it, pushing the nicotine filled stick to his lips. “Fucking hate it. How’d you do it Paul?” 

He puffed on his cigarette, leaning his head back and blowing the smoke towards the roof. Paul watched him with a fond smile. He wished that he could lean over and suck that sweet smoke into his own mouth but they were in public, he couldn’t. 

“I tend to think about the good things that will come after.” Paul replied, looking back at the photographers and journalists. They were giving them odd glances but soon finding their way over to Brian, George or Ringo, thankfully. 

“Like what?” John asked tiredly. 

“Like us sharing a hotel room.” Paul leaned into John’s personal sphere. John tensed, almost choking on his cigarette. 

“We are?” He asked quietly, glancing over at Paul. 

“I’ll make sure of it.” Paul whispered leaning closer to John’s ear. “With a small bed, we won’t be doing much sleeping anyway.”

“What are we going to do?” John asked quietly. He knew fully well what was to be expected, but he wanted to hear it from Paul’s dirty mouth. 

“Well.” Paul whispered, smirking slightly. “I’ll lock the door and walk you over to the bed. I’ll make you undress for me, slowly, and you will obey like the little sissy you are.” 

John licked his lips, his heart hammering hard in his chest. The room seemed to get even stuffier. Had the space shrunken?

“I’ll touch you all over.” Paul started again. “With my hands, my lips and my tongue. I want to taste all of you and feel every inch of your skin until you’re trembling all over. I’ll lay you down on your back on the bed, spread your legs…” 

Paul let a few fingers slip, rubbing at the inside of John’s thigh, just above the knee. John shifted in his seat, pressing his legs together. 

“Paulie.” John whimpered, biting at his lips. He usually didn’t give a fuck if anyone found out about his sexuality. He was pretty open with his affections for Paul and it was the bassist who usually said no, but now John was the one who squirmed under Paul’s dirty mouth.

“I’d pull you to the edge and kneel down, suck on your perfectly rounded balls and then…” Paul stopped to let out a gentle breath against John’s ear, causing a shiver to run down his spine. “Then I’d taste you, run my wet tongue against that sinful little hole. I’d pull you closer, push my tongue deeper. Eat you out like until you get wet and sloppy like a girl.” 

John squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a quiet little moan. Fucking Paul, running his dirty mouth in public. 

“I’d clutch your thighs, leaving bruises for tomorrow.” Paul whispered, letting his hand come closer to where John needed it the most. “I’d let you cum over my face, screaming my name.” 

John let out a shuddering breath and a whimper as Paul removed his offending hand an arm. He opened his eyes, cigarette mostly burnt out in his fingers. Paul took it off him, popping it in between his lips with a confident smirk. 

“Well, John we have about half an hour left here.” He said and slapped his knees, getting up and off the couch. “Come along now, we have journalists to entertain. 

John scowled and got off the couch. He followed Paul back into the hellish crowd, thankfully a lot calmer and with a promise that he intended to make Paul keep.


End file.
